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My mom flips historical homes in Seattle—buys them, makes them gorgeous, sells them for a profit. Jaxon’s mom owns Wellington Suites, one of those fancy hotels downtown. Growing up, we basically lived on Seattle’s streets and baseball fields. Both of us played through middle and high school, plus travel teams. Our dates usually meant watching each other's games, falling asleep on FaceTime, chillin at the fire station with our dads, or mooching free food at his mom’s hotel.
Those were my favorite memories of Jaxon and me. Before all the drama and pressure.
Now there’s this loaded silence between us while we eat. I should ask about Inez—I want to—but watching his lips wrap around his milkshake straw, I decide ignorance is bliss. Delulu land is nice this time of year.
I ask about baseball to keep the conversation away from her.
“How’s the team this year? You leave for Texas on Thursday, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” His eyes find mine. “Your next game is a home one, right?”
I nod, grinning. He knows my schedule. “Mhm.”
Jaxon matches my smile, and I tell myself his smirk isn’t about us still keeping tabs on each other. “Boys are solid so far. Did okay in Long Beach.” He shrugs. “Went two and two, but you know how it goes with better competition.”
“Yeah. It sure does.”
“Got this freshman shortstop from Boston, Ollie. Kingston’s already got beef with him,” he adds, hunting for the extra-crispy fries he loves. “But kid’s decent.”
“Kingston having beef with someone? Shocking.”
Jaxon laughs. “Right?”
I watch his hands, the way his veins pop when his fingers move. Those damn hand veins get me every time. Suddenly I’m thinking about those hands on me… No. Stop.
I blow out a breath, glancing up at him before looking away. Doesn’t help. My mind’s already there. “We don’t have any freshman pitchers, but Coach Drew mentioned a possible transfer. Not sure yet.”
“Oh, yeah.” He chews a fry and shrugs. “You might.”
“Yeah. There always seems to be a few that transfer mid-season.”
Jaxon nods, eyeing his burger. “Wild how we’ll be on the road every week for the next few months.”
“For real. Definitely not high school anymore.”
The college athlete life is no joke. Crack-of-dawn lifts, classes, practice, travel, media days, games, after-game press—there’s zero time for anything else. Last season, some weeks Jaxon and I only saw each other through a phone screen. In season, we’re gone for weeks depending on the schedule.
“Not gonna lie,” Jaxon leans back and smirks. “I miss high school.”
I smile. “Me too.”
I could read into it and think he misses me, or us, or whatever, but I won’t let myself.
Remember: no feelings.
“Jameson said you and him are helping some little league players. That’s fun.”
Jaxon blinks, his forehead creasing. “You talked to Jameson?”
Shit. Did I piss him off?
His tone shifts, and I analyze it like a pitch. The inflection says concerned, but his face reads indifferent.
“Yeah, we’ve got Survey of Human Anatomy together.”
“Oh. Right.” His eyes drop to our fries. “Yeah, we’re helping some kids. Community service thing.”
His expression shifts—confused? No, not that. Maybe… jealousy? No way.